


Sweet

by gallifreyanlibertea



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Baking Competition, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-05 06:20:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12788652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyanlibertea/pseuds/gallifreyanlibertea
Summary: Arthur is the host of a baking competition- The Next Sugar Daddy- and finds that a certain contestant might threaten his cold, impartial demeanor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know JACK SHIT about baking and cooking shows so don’t come at me

It wasn’t hard to place a bet on who would end up being the most loved this season.

“Hello, bakers!” Arthur came out from behind the main doors to the large kitchen, followed by gasps and applause from the contestants, and it wasn’t quite hard at all to find the one out of the eight bakers that would inevitably end up a viewer-favorite. The cameras would focus the most on that tanned skin, on that dimpled smile, on the baby blues behind the frames of those glasses.

Arthur would be expected to put him under the spotlight as well, he assumed, in the later episodes. With a face like that contestant had, dear  _god_ , what it would do to their ratings.

“I’m Arthur Kirkland,” Arthur had said, crossing his arms. “Welcome to  _The Next Sugar Daddy.”_

His dialogue was followed by laughter, as it always was when he introduced the downright  _ridiculous_  name that Francis Bonnefoy had fought to title the show. “Ah, I see some potential sugar mummies and sugar-parents in this mix as well. How are you all today?”

And like he’d expected, the, er,  _attractive_  one was the first to speak. Arthur found it hard to maintain a distant composure when his attention was almost demanded by the man who seemed to radiate confidence as well as charm. It was so much so that the contestants had all flocked to the man within the first few minutes of filming the episode. They now stood around next him, like the loyal subjects to a King.

“It’s kinda hot in here, to be honest.” He’d made a show of flapping his shirt, and Arthur opened his mouth with a reply already in mind- a quip about Francis being too cheap to install air conditioners- before the man continued. “And you in that suit of yours isn’t helping either.”

Despite being a world-renowned host of successful T.V. food competitions, and being a part-time novel writer, Arthur forgot how to speak English.

“Ah- I, um…”

Francis seemed to find this funny, and the fact that his laughter came out as wheezes didn’t help Arthur’s situation one bit.

“I’d better go change my suit then.” Was the dialogue Arthur had decided on, red-faced. “Dreadfully sorry about that.”

Needless to say, they’d figured out the ‘game’ for this season’s show.

In the last season, it had been a contestant’s unhealthy obsession with the judge, Francis Bonnefoy, and Arthur and the cameramen had been instructed to amplify it. It bode well for the show’s statistics, and quite well with Arthur himself, seeing Francis as uncomfortable as he was.

That game had definitely been better than the one before it, when a contestant had insisted Francis and Arthur had been secretly in love, and the two had been forced to play along as a humorous appeal to their audience. It had come as a shock to them that apparently, more than one of their numerous viewers had come to that “in-love” conclusion as well.

It had been torture.

But now, it seemed, it was Arthur’s turn alone. If this contestant kept up with his apparent interest in Arthur, the production crew would do whatever it took to utilize it to their benefit.

And the contestant most definitely did.

“Round one- as you all know, your task is to introduce yourself so the judge can get to know you… but with a sweet twist.”

Arthur paused for effect, so the camera crew could get a good shot of the theatrical looks on the contestants’ faces. “You will be given ninety minutes to prepare a cupcake that represents you, and you will be graded on originality, taste, and presentation. Your time starts now.”

This was Arthur’s favorite part. It was to watch as the contestants hurried to their places, brows furrowed in thought. The first five minutes was a valuable time for the camera crew to get videos of panicked faces, and for Arthur to scan his handy sheet for names and quick notes he’d been given about the characters of the contestants.

“His name is Alfred Jones,” Francis whispered and Arthur ignored him, squinting down at the sheet in his hands as Francis peeked over his shoulder.

“Shouldn’t you be in your seat looking stoic?”

“They don’t turn the camera to us for a good ten minutes, Kirkland, now what else does it say about him?”

“Shut up, Francis.” He spared a small glance at Alfred’s workstation only to find the boy gazing intently back at him. Alfred grinned abashedly before turning back down to his work, and Arthur hoped to every god on earth that his pasty white skin wasn’t blushing on camera. “I think it’s some sort of tactic to win the show- to soften up the host, yeah?”

Francis shrugged.

A quick cue from a cameraman told Arthur it was time to walk about and get words out of the contestants.

“What’s going on here?” Arthur said with a smile, and contestant number one began to ramble on about the themes within his cupcakes. A quick glance at his sheet and Arthur looked back up, “So you own your own bakery?”

It wasn’t something Arthur was proud of, but he found that his interest level hadn’t nearly been as high with the others as it was the moment he stepped toward Alfred Jones’ workspace.

“What do we have here, Mr. Jones?”

And if what he saw wasn’t what he’d expected, Arthur didn’t know what would be.

Alfred had decided to display something patriotic, something American, with apple-pie sorts of flavoring in the frosting and red and blue sprinkles of edible glitter.

“I had initially wanted to go with a chocolate, protein-shake kinda thing,” Alfred said earnestly. He then let his lip quirk up in something of a smirk, “You know, since I work out a lot.”

“I see that,” Arthur said, and Alfred turned his attention back to his work with a laugh that had Arthur turning away from the cameras to wait out the red flush in his cheeks.

_Get a bloody hold of yourself._

Then, Arthur was back at Francis’ side, aware of the cameras poised in their direction as Francis spoke. “I always look forward to this round because it’s quite interesting to see what they come up with.”

“It’s a good gauge of personality and skill.” Arthur said in response, “Not many people try their hardest on this round, on the basis that it’s only an introduction, which gives us a pretty good understanding of their base-level of expertise.”

Time went by slower when he wasn’t the one baking furiously to secure a place in the competition, Arthur found, yet it hadn’t gone by all too slowly for him either.

His job while the competitors baked was fairly easy. It was to pace around with an inquisitive look on his face and make conversation with Francis, as a sort of gossip about what desserts were being made.

Soon, Arthur was stepping right back to the front of the room, eyes glancing at the large clock mounted behind him, “Bakers, please step away from your creations!”

A pause for dramatic effect, for the cameras to catch the looks of relief and sometimes despair on sweaty, flour-streaked faces.

And then, the judging began.

“Mr. Anderson, please explain your cupcake,” Arthur said, with a smile he liked to call  _not here, nor there._  It was a trick he’d picked up over his years of hosting competitions, a look on his face that served as a complete opposite to what he was meant to do- to comfort contestants.

Instead, this smile served to put them on edge. It served to elicit a look from their faces so priceless that it always made it into the final edit.

Francis would watch patiently as the man explained his creation, and he would break into it with his little fork, face as stony as he could manage.

It was funny considering the faces Francis liked to make when he ate. He was a proper food-whore, really.

“I find this to be a little soggy-” It was also a bit funny to watch a previously cocky contestant’s face melt into one of horror after a harsh critique.

Arthur was definitely bitter enough to enjoy something like this, and those who were close to him often wondered how he made it as a host, someone meant to be warm and friendly, when in fact, Arthur found himself having to hold back a smile as a man who’d been particularly rude to him walked back to his station with head hung low.

“Mr. Jones,” Arthur called, and Alfred seemed to brace himself. He held his chin up, rolled his shoulders back, and popped a quick smile on his face as he placed his plate on Francis’ table.

Arthur found himself rooting for the man.

“Here I have a-” Arthur tuned out Alfred’s long ingredient list and in turn, found himself gazing at the cupcake on the plate. It was rather colorful, with icing piped in red and blue, and what seemed to be a small flag on it.

“A rainbow flag.” Alfred explained with a grin, “I love men, all sizes, shapes, and colors, baby.”

“Amen to that,” Francis replied with a hearty chuckle that Arthur couldn’t help rolling his eyes at. “Well, Alfred, there’s no denying your presentation is very beautiful.”

Arthur steeled himself right alongside Alfred.

“And, I have to say, so are your flavors.”

Brilliant! The look on Alfred’s face brought a short-lived smile onto Arthur’s own. It was one that a cameraman had moved to capture-  _oh fuck, they were going to put that face on television, weren’t they_ , Arthur clenched his jaw back into a look of indifference.

Francis had pointed it out that evening, after the contestants went home to rest and the crew had been left to look at the footage. “Aw, look, how sweet!”

“Shut up, Francis.” Arthur had snapped. “Are we really going to focus on this?”

Francis hid a smile behind his hand, “There’s nothing an audience loves more to watch than a blooming romance in the midst of a competition. Haven’t you seen all the best-selling novels these days?”

This would be hell for the poor Jones boy, Arthur deduced.

It was only natural that a man like Alfred be used to flirting around for fun. He hadn’t meant anything of it, and now it would be blown out of proportion for the sake of show ratings.

Arthur supposed that’s how the world worked.

“Watch this,” Francis said one day, with what sounded like a giggle, and Arthur scooted in, peering over his shoulder.

What the audience never saw was the long breaks between each round, up to days of preparation time for the bakers while the production team met each day to watch footage and conduct interviews that could be pieced into the final edit.

“I don’t have a boyfriend back home,” Alfred said into the camera, teeth flashing in a big grin. “I never really had the time or the attraction.”

“And what are you usually attracted to?” The interviewer said. His prompt would later be cut out, so Alfred had to answer in full sentences.

“I usually like a good personality in a person, someone who enjoys my company as much as I enjoy theirs, and who  _doesn’t_ like good looks?”

“Does Arthur Kirkland fit into this at all?”

Arthur buried his face in his palms.

Alfred, on the laptop screen, paused. He then grinned, “Arthur Kirkland is definitely my type.”


	2. Chapter 2

“In this round, you will be given a recipe to recreate.” Arthur paused for a smile, “However, there is a catch.”

This elicited impatient groans from the two competitors left remaining.

“You will be given extra ingredients to incorporate into the deserts, and you will have ninety minutes to complete this task.”

Arthur waited as the recipe cards were delivered to the two remaining contestants. He would do a voice-over later, but as of now, he would pause and give them a moment or two to read what was given to them.

See, this was the sad part. With round seven, there were only two contestants left, and Arthur liked to think he knew them. He liked to think the weeks he’d spent hosting them had softened him a bit,  _just a little bit,_  yes.

However, with this case in particular- Arthur cast a glance in Alfred’s direction as the man looked up from his instructions, a beaming smile spreading slowly on his features-

Arthur decided Alfred Jones had softened him up  _more_ than just a bit.

“Ready, set, bake!”

The two contestants scrambled to begin the recipe and Arthur found himself biting back a sigh.

What would come of him if he let himself be swept away by any man who considered him slightly attractive? It was ridiculous, really, that Arthur had forgotten the extent of his homosexuality until Alfred Jones happened upon him.

Sigh.

Arthur could still remember it now… he doubted he’d ever be forgetting it, not soon, at least.

“The theme for today is beauty.” He had remembered saying, not too long ago, to a room of four contestants, “You will be given ninety minutes to embody this theme through the desert of your choice.”

Arthur had been excited to see the results of that round in particular, seeing as one of the contestants had told him he would be making edible roses, and god, did Arthur love the idea of that. He was a man that knew to appreciate the beauty of things. That was why he’d asked to include the theme for this season, yes, despite not being able to eat the actual creations.

“What do we have here?” Arthur had said inquisitively, peering into Alfred’s station.

“I’m making a cake.” Alfred said, with a boyish smile.

Arthur paused, waiting for elaboration. There was none. “And what shall I expect from you in this round?”

“I think you’ll like it.” Was Alfred’s sly reply and he turned his back. “Or, at least, I hope you will.”

Nothing in that exchange of words would have led Arthur to even  _thinking_ about what Alfred had ended up presenting at the end of the round, nothing at all.

After all, why would Arthur even expect Alfred’s idea of beauty to center around… well,  _him?_

“I decided to make a cake based on someone I’ve admired since I started to watch this show. From its very first episode.”

Francis’ lips had quirked up in a smile, because, well, who else could it have been but him? He was the head of the show, the judge, the celebrity with an international reputation for exquisite cakes and pastries, so naturally, anyone aspiring to enter the field would adore him.

Yet “Arthur Kirkland” was the name that fell out of Alfred’s lips, and Arthur wasn’t the only one whose lips parted in a gasp.

“That’s right, Arthur Kirkland.” Alfred called with a point, “You’re beautiful, baby!”

Francis seemed taken aback, “Oh!”

Alfred continued, “Yeah, I’ll admit I’ve had a crush on you for a year now, going strong.”

Every single person and camera in the room turned to Arthur for a witty reply. They received a sputter- “Um, well, uh- wow, I… wow.”

Arthur then straightened up, clearing his throat with a smile for the cameras, “Well, then, I suppose I should be involved in tasting this.”

“There’s a reason I’m the judge and not you.” Was Francis’ reply, with a laugh from the competitors.

“A cake representing Arthur Kirkland, wow.” Francis had then turned down to the plate, carving out a piece of the cake to taste. He paused, then tasted the mint ice cream next to it. He looked back up. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t get this.”

Alfred’s expression went slack.

“This cake is far too sweet and delicious to represent a man so salty and bitter.”

“Oh, can it.” Arthur had snapped in reply, cheeks aflame, and Alfred’s lips spread in the brightest smile known to man.

“Come, Arthur, see how you taste.” Francis had said.

That memory in particular didn’t help the fact that Arthur felt his heart drop as he saw Alfred leave his dessert in the oven for too long. Arthur wasn’t completely devoid of feelings, especially not to a man who’d crafted a whole bloody cake in Arthur’s honor, one that had tasted absolutely divine, by the way.

It had tasted so divine that, despite not being prompted to, he had stepped away from Francis’ side that day to reward a laughing Alfred with a hug and a slight peck to the cheek.

“Thank you, Alfred my dear, the cake is lovely.”

“That’s it, I can go home now.” Alfred had said, bright red in the face. He’d then turned to the camera. “Can you believe it, mom? A kiss from  _Arthur Kirkland?”_

He was absolutely charming. It was why Francis turned to Arthur with worry in his eyes, at the smell of burning cake. Arthur then turned to the clock. “Thirty minutes left!”

It was times like these that made Arthur hate his job.

Well, not quite. Sometimes, he absolutely loved what he did. Just two weeks ago, he’d gone to the contestants’ houses for a personal interview! It was interesting to see how a personality was reflected in the interior of a house, and he’d gotten to meet lots of beautiful pets, it was quite easily heaven.

“Oh!” He’d gasped as he was greeted with a bark upon opening Alfred’s door.

Alfred’s house had been something Arthur had, with shame, looked forward to for the entire day, going as far as cutting the other interviews just a _tad bit short._

The producers had let it slide with smug smiles, but, see, Arthur’s intentions were nothing of that sort. He was only looking out for the show! There was no doubt viewers everywhere wanted a closer look at Alfred Jones, come on! He was practically a ray of sunshine in the kitchen- not to mention, a ray of sunshine in the looks department as well- and Arthur had definitely just been looking out for the show.

“Sorry about that.” Alfred had said with a laugh, “Hero’s a sweetie, he’s just excited.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Hero.” Arthur had said with a polite smile.

“Come on in, I made you some tea!”

Oh. Arthur turned to the cameras with an incredulous look. It’s not as if he’d never been offered food at this stage of the interviewing process before. It had always been, well, sweets. That was the whole point of the show, really, and people often took this as a chance to impress Arthur with biscuits or cupcakes.

“Don’t worry, I know just how you like it.” Alfred had said with a wink, sliding the cup across the dining room table, “I couldn’t find the cookies you normally drink your tea with, so you’ll have to settle for the ones I just made.”

Arthur turned to the cameras with a laugh. “Alfred Jones, where even did you get all this information about me? Are you in some sort of fanclub of mine?”

“Am I in a fanclub?” Alfred had said, “Baby, I run ‘em all.”

And those biscuits had been delicious. Arthur had practically inhaled them, to which Alfred had laughed, “You’re getting crumbs all over yourself!”

Arthur didn’t like to think of what had happened next, because frankly, he’d spent days trying to forget about the warm hand that had come to cradle the side of his face, thumb sweeping at Arthur’s bottom lip. “There, all gone.”

Needless to say, Francis and the producers had both had a field day viewing the footage, cooing and blowing kisses at a flustered Arthur who’d taken to burying his reddened face in his palms.

Although, Arthur would’ve rather had Francis taunt him to no end than to have him look at Arthur with those furrowed brows of his, lips turned down in an expression Arthur found himself mirroring.

Alfred just hadn’t been on his game today. That was all. The boy had managed to make it to the semi final round, for hell’s sake!

But that cake of his was positively burnt.

“Ten minutes left!”

The other contestant seemed to be doing better, and Arthur wanted to curse. He wanted to yell, he wanted to dip his hands into the immaculate frosting on her cake and scramble it all up if it meant Alfred would move on to the final round against Francis himself, because if Arthur knew anything, it was that Alfred had the potential to be so great.

He supposed that thought was a bit biased. “Step away from your creations!”

Alfred hung his head in shame and Arthur found himself having to look away.

This was the sad part.

It took years of training for Arthur to be where he was, yet no amount of training could take the part away from him, or from Francis, or anyone for the matter, that let them feel for the blue-eyed man who’d been eliminated in the semi-final round.

“I guess I was just being too ambitious.” Was Alfred’s final comment, “I tried to do too much and neglected the basics.”

Francis had nodded sympathetically.

And Alfred had turned to walk out of the door.

Of course, he wasn’t actually going anywhere, no, he would just be led into the interview room. But it was definitely the end for him. Arthur tried not to think about it as he turned to the final contestant.

“So, as the remaining contestant, do you think you have what it takes to claim the Sugar Daddy title from our reigning Sugar Daddy, Francis Bonnefoy?”

The cameras would stop rolling after the contestant’s reply, because unlike what showed up on television, there was a nice, long break for recovery after every round. This was to Arthur’s benefit, seeing as he desperately needed to sit down for a while.

“What a bummer.” He whispered, and Francis nodded.

“I saw a potential in that Jones boy.”

Arthur had nothing to say in response.

He supposed one could call him impartial, but that was definitely not the case. Despite the fact that Arthur was… well there was no use denying it now, he supposed. Arthur was attracted to the man, and despite the fact that one could have every suspicion of finding him impartial, it didn’t take much to tell that Alfred Jones was sweet and deserving of some sort of prize. There was real talent in the boy.

Arthur walked out the doors with a fleeting smile at the one remaining contestant that met his gaze. He then turned and halted, knocking against the door where the interviews were being conducted.

A cameraman peeked out from behind it. “Yes, Mr. Kirkland?”

“I, um, figured I should say something.” Arthur stammered, thinking to add  _you know, for the ratings?_  But there was no need. The man smiled and Arthur was allowed in.

Alfred glanced up with wide eyes, standing almost immediately, brushing down the wrinkles in his shirt, “Oh, hey there!”

“You should be proud of yourself for making it this far.” Arthur said, and Alfred paused, meeting Arthur’s gaze with a slight smile.

“Thank you, that means a lot.”

“Uh-”

Arthur had been heroic in storming into the interview room, but he found he had nothing much else to say. He glanced behind the cameras to find a camera man gesturing.

_Go on!_

“Uh, I… come here-” Arthur didn’t do this much, and it was pretty apparent on his face as he inched in for a hug. It’s not as if he didn’t want to hug Alfred, no, definitely not, seeing as the last time he’d done it, he’d been too reluctant to break away from that warm embrace.

A bit  _too_  reluctant.

It was just the way he seemed to fit right between Alfred’s arms. Arthur didn’t like to parade around the fact that he was on the smaller side, but it was made obvious in situations such as these, where he found his face buried into the crook of Alfred’s neck, for all the viewers to see.

Although, this hug was a bit different from the last one. It didn’t quite involve the awkward-back-clapping, and Arthur wasn’t sure what that meant.

“This right here, this is all the winning I need.” Alfred said with a laugh and Arthur pulled away with a polite smile, trying not to think about the muscle he’d felt behind that shirt or the fact that Alfred smelled like cake.

The cameramen were having the time of their lives, of course, beckoning behind Alfred’s back for Arthur to continue with something,  _anything._

Alfred liberated Arthur from having to think of a dialogue. “I’m so honored to have finally gotten to meet you.”

“The competition’s over, lad, you don’t need to keep buttering me up.” Arthur said with a tight laugh, by which Alfred didn’t seem to be humored. Not one bit. Arthur let the laugh subside into a rather nervous smile, one uncharacteristic by a trained host, but he found that there was not much else he could do with himself.

“I mean it.” Alfred said. “I’ve watched every show you’ve hosted. You’ve got such sparkling wit, you just light up the room… you’re- god, I can’t speak, you’re so hot.”

Alfred had laughed to punctuate the compliment, but Arthur found himself beyond numb.

He was used to this! This wasn’t the first time a contestant had called him ‘hot’. It had, however, been the first time one had said it to him after losing, having no reason to do so for their own personal gain.

Perhaps that was why Arthur kissed him.

It was only a tiny peck on the lips, but the camera men were delighted. “And we thought you had no heart, Kirkland!”

Arthur parted his lips for a snarky reply, and he’d almost delivered it too, hadn’t it been for the warm hands that pulled his face back into a kiss. Arthur didn’t know when he’d imagined it happening, but he found that it was just how he’d expected it to be. Alfred positively devoured him and Arthur had nowhere else to put his hands but to cup Alfred’s face, finding Alfred smiling into the kiss in response to the action.

Arthur pulled away with a pop and an incredulous part of his lips, and Alfred’s smile melted away.

“God, I have no idea what came over me… I’m so sor-”

“No, it’s… I’m-” Arthur said, no, Arthur stammered. “It’s fine! I’m, um, fine. I’ve got to shoot in a few minutes, though, and-”

“What he means to ask is if the production crew could give him your number.” The cameraman urged, to which Arthur cleared his throat.

“Yes, I’ll… I’ll call you… um, can I? Can I call you? Uh-”

“You’ll call me.” Alfred echoed, as if he couldn’t believe the words.

“Better yet-” Francis began, and  _when did he even get here?_ Perhaps while Alfred was snogging Arthur like no tomorrow- yes, Arthur vaguely remembered a door creaking open, but, well, he had other things on his mind that took importance over figuring out the source of the irrelevant noise. Clearly.  “After shooting, we like to go out to dinner. How about you tag along and keep Arthur company? Since he’s too good to talk to any of us.”

Damn it, Arthur was a trained host! He made money off of talking, yet he found that his lips preferred to stay shut as blue eyes bore into his.

“Do you think that’d be okay?” Alfred asked, blue eyes inquisitive.

Arthur nodded.

Alfred’s grin grew along with the smile on Arthur’s lips. 

“Sweet!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you think I wrote random crap just to call this fic finished, you're damn right I did

**Author's Note:**

> idk when or if there will be more chapters but my bet's on this being a two-part fic


End file.
